


Kabby Ficlets

by ChancellorGriffin



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drabble Collection, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Fluff and Smut, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Short One Shot, Smut, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2016-01-20
Packaged: 2018-04-23 15:15:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4881643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChancellorGriffin/pseuds/ChancellorGriffin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of short Kabby fics from Tumblr Ask Box submissions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: "I have a prompt where on a down day the kids talked Marcus and Abby to play spin the bottle and things get interesting afterwards."  
> 

The Unity Day celebration was beginning to wind down, with most of the camp stumbling off to bed after one too many trips to the makeshift bar where Jasper and Monty’s moonshine was being poured out like water.  Kane, on his way back to his quarters, detoured briefly to check in with Miller about tomorrow’s patrol and then spotted a suspiciously large group of the camp’s teenage contingent sitting in a circle behind the ship’s walls, out of view of the rest of camp.

“This looks fishy,” he remarked as he walked up behind them, startling a few of the kids into shifting awkwardly in their seats.  He could see them wondering how much trouble they were about to be in.  “What’s going on here?”

“We’re playing Spin the Bottle,” said Miller, who wasn’t remotely afraid of Kane.  “You want in?”

“Um, no,” said Kane, laughing, “I think I’ll pass.”

“How come?”

“Because I’m not fifteen,” he said.  “You kids have fun.”

Miller shrugged.  “Suit yourself,” he said.  “Just trying to do you a solid.”  And before Kane could ask him what the hell he meant by that, a visibly intoxicated Abby returned from Jasper’s bar carrying a pair of bottles – one empty, one full – and sat down in the empty spot next to Monty where he could now see that she had left her jacket to save her place.

“Sorry it took so long, I brought the – “  And then she froze.  “Oh.  Hey, Marcus,” she said, in a tone of unconvincing casualness.  Kane stared at her.

“I know we haven’t established formal Council bylaws yet,” said Kane, “but I’m pretty sure the Chancellor’s not supposed to be drunkenly making out with teenagers.”

“Dude, it took me like forty minutes to talk her _into_ this,” said Raven, “don’t ruin all my hard work.”

“Abby, can I talk to you for a minute?” Kane said politely, unwilling to get into in front of the kids.  But really.  This was ridiculous.

“We can talk here,” she said primly.  “Sit.”  

Maybe out of an amused desire to see how this was going to play out, or maybe out of mischief – or, who knows, maybe because they were drunk enough that any of them would kiss anybody – the whole circle, as one, shifted itself to clear a space for Marcus to sit down … right across from Abby.  Miller was on his left, then Monty, Harper, Monroe, Abby, Jasper, Octavia and finally Raven at his right.

“Newcomers go first,” said Monty before Kane could say anything.  “Here, I’ll spin for you.”

“I’m not –“  
“Shush,” said Raven, passing him the full bottle of moonshine Abby had returned with, as Monty deftly spun the empty one on the ground in front of them.  And it landed – as somehow Kane had known it would – pointing straight at Abby.

“There now,” said Raven.  “Aren’t you glad you came?”

“Shut up, Raven,” said Kane.

“Rules are rules,” said Abby.  “The law of Spin the Bottle are sacred and unyielding.”

“My God, you’re drunk.”

“Marcus, just get over here,” she said, laughing, and grabbed the collar of his jacket to pull him in.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: "dancing OTP *-* i just have a soft spot for dancing OTPs, canon, theater company AU, school teachers at the prom AU, dancing competition AU, just make them dance! \o/"  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You had me at “School Teachers at the Prom AU”. 
> 
> P.S. the song is "All I Want Is You" by U2.

“Mrs. Griffin?”

“No, Jasper,” she said without looking up from the punch table, “you cannot take over as D.J.  I am not having this conversation again.”

“But they’re playing like _old person_ music,” he protested.

“You’re just going to have to live with it,” she said firmly, handing him a cup of punch.  “Nate Miller’s dad agreed to do this for free, which was very nice of him, and the prom parents’ committee spent like two weeks vetting all the songs on his playlist for inappropriate content.  So like I told you before, you are more than welcome to request any song from the list he has posted over the speakers.  But nothing else.”  

“How many is that?” said a voice over her shoulder as Jasper stomped irritably away, and Abby Griffin turned to see the new American History teacher, Mr. Kane, watching her with amusement.

“Sorry?”

“I’ve had three so far,” he said.  “Kyle Wick, Monty Green, and Raven Reyes.  All complaining about the music.  I was just wondering how many complaints you’d gotten, and if I was winning or losing.”

“I’ve only had Jasper so far,” she said, “but he’s been over here five times.  So I think you’re ahead.  Want some punch?”

“What’s in it?”

“Punch.”

He laughed.  “That’s my favorite kind,” he said, and she filled him a paper cup full of the questionable red liquid, tooth-achingly sweet with a flavor that was simultaneously every fruit at once and no fruit that has ever existed.  As she handed him the cup, their fingers touched for just a second, and he looked at her, right at her, and Abby was suddenly very glad she had worn this dress instead of the other one.  

She had been torn, this evening, between a meet-the-parents dress that said “Hello, I Am a Trustworthy Authority Figure Here To Keep Your Children From Making Terrible Life Choices” – a high-necked navy blue sheath dress in a discreet and unostentatious shantung silk, with a pearl-buttoned cardigan over it.  But instead – for reasons that had _absolutely nothing_ to do with the fact that she had seen Mr. Kane’s name on the volunteer signup sheet hanging over the copier in the faculty room – she had opted for a green-and-white floral vintage party dress from the 1950’s, with a full skirt and a fitted bodice.  It showed off her arms and her collarbone to great effect but was modest enough to still feel appropriate for a teacher chaperoning at the prom.  But it made her feel pretty.  And, if she was being honest, it made her feel a little bit like she was going to the prom in a 1950’s movie – something she would never admit out loud.

Something else she would never admit out loud – how much Mr. Kane, in his white shirt and gray suit with no tie, dark hair just a little too long and a little too rumpled – looked like James Bond.  She felt a pang of sympathy for all the fifteen-year-olds in his history class who were going to get their hearts broken this year.

“It’s Abby, right?” he said suddenly, and she looked up at him.  He smiled.  “Sorry, I just – I get so used to calling teachers what the students call them.  I don’t always remember first names.  I’m Marcus, by the way.”

“Marcus,” she repeated.  “I’m Abby.”  They shook hands, a little awkwardly.  

“So, you come here often?” Marcus started to say, but was spared embarrassing himself with such a dorky dad joke when they were interrupted as the song ended and a cluster of giggling girls descended on the punch table.   He grabbed the second ladle and came around behind the table to stand next to Abby and help her pour drinks.  

“Ugh, I _hate_ this music,” muttered one.  “It’s so _boring_.”

“That’s four,” whispered Abby under her breath as the group moved away, and Marcus laughed.

“How can they hate this song?” he said.  “It’s U2.  Everyone likes U2.”

“Everyone _our_ age likes U2,” she corrected him.  “We’re the only ones alive who remember when _Rattle and Hum_ came out.  None of these kids were even _born_.”

“Christ, we’re old.”

“I danced to this song at my own prom,” she said, “did you?”

“Oh, of course,” he said.  “It was the eighties.  Who _didn’t_?”

“I wore a hot pink satin dress with puffed sleeves and black polka dots,” said Abby, lost in reminiscence, “and my hair was enormous and sprayed within an inch of its life.  And my date’s name was Brian, he was my first boyfriend, but we broke up two weeks later for reasons that had something to do with me not liking the movie _Die Hard_ enough.”

“Sounds like you dodged a bullet there.”

“Yeah, he’s a used-car salesman now.”

“I had a teal suit,” said Marcus.  “ _Teal._  I think there might have been ruffles.”

“Oh God,” she laughed, “you win.  I’m surprised this song isn’t giving you PTSD flashbacks.”

“The suit was terrible,” he agreed.  “But this is still a really good song.”  Then he turned to her suddenly.  “Hey,” he said, “do you – would you maybe want to –“

“Want to what?”

“Well, the kids can help themselves to punch without a monitor for five minutes,” he said, “and if anyone tries to spike it David Miller can see them from the DJ booth.”

“Marcus, if you’re asking me to dance, ask me to dance.”

“May I have this dance?” he said gallantly, holding out his hand, and led her onto the dance floor.

They didn’t go far – they stayed close to the punch table, in the shadows, the sparkling flashes of light from the disco ball overhead mostly missing them.  He kept hold of her hand, and placed his other hand at her waist.  Hers came up to his shoulder.  They were very proper – there were parents here, after all, and Principal Jaha was just outside – but still.  They were _dancing._

Marcus thought Abby smelled like lavender.  Abby thought Marcus had the softest hair she’d ever seen.  They listened to each other breathing, feeling the same flutter in their stomachs that dozens of other dancing couples in the gymnasium were experiencing at the same time.  

 _“You say you want / Diamonds on a ring of gold,”_ sang Bono, as Abby moved just the slightest bit closer, breathing in the pine-and-wool scent of Marcus’ jacket, feeling her heart begin to beat a little faster.   _“But all the promises we make  / From the cradle to the grave / When all I want is you.”_

We think we grow out of it, that dizzy giddy feeling.  But we never really do.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: "HI YES HELLO CONGRATS ON 300 CAN I INTEREST YOU IN [spins wheel] A SMALL DRABBLE IN THE SAME UNIVERSE AS I'M GONNA WATCH YOU SHINE? like a parents' week thing, or that date or ANYTHING. i didn't spin a wheel, i lied."  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to "I'm Gonna Watch You Shine" - http://archiveofourown.org/works/4628658

“Abby Griffin,” she said to the hostess.  “Table for two.  I had an 8 p.m. reservation.”

“Of course,” said the girl, scanning down the list and crossing off Abby’s name.  “Freshman orientation weekend?”

“How can you tell?” Abby laughed, looking around at the sea of college parents filling every table in the entire restaurant.

“Lucky guess,” she said, smiling back.  “Right this way, Mr. Griffin, Mrs. Griffin.”  And she had grabbed two menus and taken off through the noisy crowd of tables before either of them could awkwardly correct her.

Abby had made her reservation three months in advance, and had of course done her research to specify exactly what table she wanted.  Thinking, of course, that she’d be having dinner with her daughter on their very last night together, she had requested one of the Mount Weather Brewery’s famous booths, called “snugs.”  They were modeled after an old pub in Belfast, Ireland, where the master brewer was from; each snug consisted of a booth with a table and a set of ornately carved wooden doors – reclaimed from a former church, the brewery’s website had said – that closed you inside in total privacy.  The two-person snugs felt a little like having dinner in a very roomy old-fashioned phone booth, but they were quiet.  

“I’ll be back with your drink order in a minute,” said the hostess, and closed the door to the booth behind her, blessedly muffling the cacophony of awkward parent/teenager conversation surrounding them.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” was the first thing Marcus said when they were alone.

“Whether it’s worth explaining to the waitress that this is a first date and you’re not Mr. Griffin?”

“Oh,” he laughed, and she was pleased to see how unembarrassed he was by it.  She relaxed a little.  “No,” he went on, “I was just wondering what you think the girls are doing right now.”

“At the freshman luau?” she said.  “Oh God.  I went to plenty of luaus in my college days, I don’t want to know.”

“I wonder if Bellamy knows that boy,” said Marcus, lost in thought.

“The one with the shaved head from this afternoon?” she said.  “The one Octavia’s obviously decided she’s going to marry?”

Marcus buried his head in his hands.  “I can’t believe it’s starting this _soon_ ,” he groaned.  “I thought I had more time.  Well, I thought I had longer than, like, a _day_.”

“We’re ready for drinks,” said Abby to the waitress, who had just returned.  Marcus did not look up.  “The dad who just realized his daughter is a heterosexual college student above the age of consent who lives in a dormitory without parental supervision will have a –“

“Whiskey.”

“A whiskey for him,” said Abby, “and what’s your draft cider?”

“Spire Mountain Dark and Dry.”

“A pint of that for me.  And I suspect we’re also going to need to start with some cheese fries.”

“Got it,” said the waitress.  “And I’ll be back in a few minutes to take your order.”

“Oh, no rush,” said Abby, and something in her voice made Marcus look up at her suddenly.  She smiled at him.  “We’re going to be here for awhile.  I’m in no hurry.”

“No,” said Marcus, grinning back.  “Neither am I.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: "please tell me that is not actually on fire".  
> 

“Please,” said Abby, in as calm a voice as she could muster, “please tell me that is not actually on fire.”

“Okay, before you get mad –“

“Well, _that_ ship sailed –“

“Let me explain how it happened,” said Marcus earnestly.  “See, Clarke had this idea –“

“Don’t blame this on me!” came a high-pitched young voice from inside the garage, protesting mightily.

“What in God’s name are you doing in there?” Abby asked her daughter.

“I’m looking for the fire extinguisher,” she called back.  “Marcus says he doesn’t have one.”

“Of _course_ he doesn’t,” said Abby, arms folded, glowering at him.  “Of _course_ he lights a jack-o-lantern on fire _in the middle of my driveway_ –“

“Hey, I live next door, it’s my driveway too –“

“… without even having a fire extinguisher to put it out.”

“Okay, but what happened was,” Marcus tried again, “we finished carving our pumpkins and we were going to test them out, you know, to see how they looked all lit up –“

“It’s broad daylight, Marcus, it’s three o’clock in the afternoon.”

“Well.  Yeah.  I know.  We were going to put the tarp over our heads to make it dark and –“

“You were going to light something on fire and then _stand underneath flammable plastic_?”

“Found it!” Clarke exclaimed triumphantly, and ran out of the garage with the fire extinguisher in her hands, spraying it wildly at the flaming pumpkin that sat, merrily ablaze, in the middle of the wide suburban driveway that Dr. Abby Griffin shared with her new neighbor.

“I’m still missing the part where the fire was apparently the fault of the nine-year-old,” said Abby, “instead of the grown adult with a PhD in Political Science who’s _running for mayor_.”

“Well, we had just the regular little candles,” he explained, “in the little metal cups.”

“Tea lights.”

“Right.”

“That’s what you’re _supposed_ to use.”

“Right, but then I thought, wouldn’t it be even cooler –“

“Oh God.  Those are never good words.”

“ … if we had an even _bigger_ candle, so I sent Clarke inside to find one – “

“Oh my God, is that why it smells like a forest fire out here?” Abby said, peering into the sea of wet squash and fire extinguisher foam, prodding it with her toe.  “Clarke, honey, did you by any chance take the big pine-scented three-wick candle out of the guest bathroom to put inside your pumpkin?”

“Marcus said it would make it the brightest pumpkin on the whole block!” she said, a little defensively.

“Well, for about thirty seconds he was right,” she conceded.  “And then, let me guess, it tipped over.”

Marcus nodded.  “And it would have been fine except that it caught a corner of the skin, you know, the dry part – the squishy part doesn’t really burn – and then all of a sudden the outside of the pumpkin was – “

“Was on fire,” she said, sighing wearily.  “In my driveway.”

“ _Our_ driveway.”

“You’ve only lived here for three months, it was mine first.”  She turned to Clarke.  “You’re going to help Mr. Kane clean up this mess,” she said, “and I’ll buy you a new pumpkin when I go to the grocery store in the morning.”

“Oh, that one wasn’t mine,” she said.  “That one was his.  Mine’s fine.”

“You carved your own pumpkin?” said Abby, raising an eyebrow.

“What?” he retorted.  “Can a single, childless adult man not carve a pumpkin in this day and age anymore?  You don’t grow out of enjoying the feeling of squishing pumpkin guts in your hand, Abby.”  

Against her will, she laughed at that. “Are you dressing up, too?” she asked.

“I don’t know, do they do that here?” he asked.  “Adults?”

“Mostly we sit on the porch and drink cider and watch the kids run around.”

“That sounds good to me,” he said.  “If you’ll be there.”

“Mom’s dressing up as Jackie Kennedy,” Clarke announced.  “And I’m gonna be a _shark_.”

“Good combination,” Marcus grinned.  “I’d watch the hell out of that movie.”  

Abby burst out laughing. “Come inside,” she said, relenting.  “You’ve got pumpkin all over your hands.”

“I made cookies shaped like ghosts!” announced Clarke, running into the house in front of them.  “Mom, can Marcus have a ghost cookie?”

“Yes, Marcus can have a ghost cookie,” said Abby, as they followed her inside.  “Even though he tried to burn down our house.”

“Well,” Marcus shrugged, climbing the steps to the front porch, “I was running out of ideas.  I had to do something to get your attention.”

She stopped and turned and looked at him.  A slow smile spread across his face.

After a moment, she smiled back.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: "Kabby where Abby calls Kane in the middle of the night (postbreakup) because she's upset about something and he shows up at her apartment to comfort her."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This almost immediately morphed into a Gilmore Girls AU inspired loosely by the season 7 episode where Richard has a heart attack and Christopher is a dick and won’t return Lorelai’s calls but Luke is there with food because HE IS THE BEST so if you’re reading this going “some of these plot points feel vaaaaaaaguely familiar”, well, trust your gut.

He wasn’t quite sure, eight months after the long and excruciating process of slowly detangling their relationship had finally come conclusively to an end, why he had not yet gotten around to deleting her number from his cell phone.  Superstition, maybe?  It wasn’t hope, he knew that much; after five years together – the first four bliss, the fifth total misery – Marcus Kane knew Abby Griffin well enough to know that when she said it was over, it was over.

He couldn’t really fault her for wanting to try again with Jake.  “This time he swears he’s getting his shit together,” Abby had said to him on that very last night.  “And Clarke needs her father.”

“She’s always needed her father,” he fired back.  “That’s never stopped him from flaking out on her before.”

“Marcus –“

“I’m the one that’s been there, Abby, I’ve always been there for her.  And I always will.  This – you and me – it doesn’t change that.”

“I know.   I know you care about her.  And she’s crazy about you.”

“Jake’s never going to be the man you think he is, Abby,” said Marcus.  “Never.  He’s forty years old, he’s already become whoever he’s gonna be.  If you’re ending things with me because you’d rather be with him – be with the real Jake, this Jake, the man he is now – then fine.  But if you’re ending things because you still think there’s a chance for the imaginary Jake in your head to become real, you’re just gonna get your heart broken.  Again.  And I’m done.  I’m done with this off-and-on thing.  I can’t –“

“I’m not asking you to,” she had said, a dull finality in her voice.  “This is it.”

He looked at her then, sad and serious, tears shining in her eyes, and before she could tell him she was sorry again – she’d been saying it all night, he couldn’t bear it any longer – he grabbed his coat from the hook and left.  

That was eight months ago, and they hadn’t spoken since.

So yeah.  He wasn’t quite sure why he hadn’t deleted her from his phone.

Unless it was for a moment exactly like this one.

A moment where Marcus Kane was startled, violently, out of a sound sleep at two o’clock in the morning by the urgent, insistent buzzing on his nightstand, and sat up to see Abby’s face (that picture of her from the day they went sledding, all wrapped up in her winter hat and scarf, staring up at the snow with giddy delight, oblivious to his camera) lit up on the screen in front of him.

A moment where he knew, with a sharp clenching pain in his chest, that she would not be calling him unless something terrible had happened.

Clarke.

He picked up the phone.

“Abby,” he said, breathlessly.  “What is it?  Are you okay?  Is Clarke okay?”

She exhaled deeply.  “Clarke’s fine,” she said, something odd in her voice.  

“Oh, thank God.”

“Marcus –“

“I was so worried,” he said, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, “I just – I thought – you know, she’s off at college –“

“Marcus, I –“

“ … and I know she’s a smart kid, you know, and safe, she’s always safe, and I know she’s not walking through bad neighborhoods alone at night or anything, it’s not like _West Side Story_ , I know that, but, you know, she’s a small-town kid and –“

“Marcus, listen –“

He wasn’t sure why he was babbling but once he had started he couldn’t stop.  This was the longest he’d gone in twenty years without talking to Abby and it was as though the system had rebooted and he was having to relearn, from scratch, how to talk to her like a normal person.

“Don’t tell her,” he said, “I mean don’t tell her that I just assumed she was in trouble, she’ll think all I do is worry, and I mean, I _do_ worry, but –“

“No, Marcus, my dad died.”

He froze.  Whatever words he was going to say next died in his mouth.  The whole world stopped moving for a minute.

“My dad died,” she said again, her voice quavering.  “He had a heart attack.  He just – it was fast, it was really fast, they couldn’t do anything – he just … he just died.”

It took seven minutes for Marcus to arrive at her door.  

She heard the car pull up and opened the front door to meet him.  He had thrown on a pair of sweats, grabbed his car keys and run faster than he’d ever run in his life, so he had to walk barefoot through the snow from the street to Abby’s door, but he didn’t even notice.  She was standing in the open doorway, bathed in golden light, and he forgot everything, he forgot about Jake and about the months of fighting and his jealousy and her temper and the eight months of missing her – there, he could finally admit it, how badly he’d missed her.  But he forgot all of that.  There was nothing left in the world but Abby Griffin’s pale, tear-streaked face as she stood there in her pajamas, a shapeless cardigan wrapped around her as she hugged her arms tightly to her chest.  She watched him walk towards her through the snow and climb the steps to the porch, and then she was in his arms.

He held her there for a long, long time, cradled close to his chest, and he could feel something inside her snap – some tightly-wound thing she’d been holding inside her – and she sank into him, sobbing.

She cried and cried and cried.  Neither of them knew how long they stood there on the porch, snow floating down through the black sky all around them, but eventually Abby had no more tears left and pulled away, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her sweater.

“It’s freezing and you’re barefoot,” she said with a hollow little laugh.  “Come in.”  

He followed her into the house, and the alarm that had pinged in the back of his mind when he realized that it was only Abby’s car in the driveway sounded again when he saw only Abby’s winter coat hanging on the front hook and only Abby’s boots by the door.

“Abby –“ he began.

“Do you want some coffee?”

“I – do you want coffee?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll have some too,” he said.  “Unless – do you want to try to sleep?”  She shook her head.

“I want to stay up,” she said.  “In case Mom calls.”

“Should we go over there?” he said.  “I can drive you.”

“She said not to,” said Abby, pouring coffee grounds into the paper filter and shoving it into the coffee maker.  “She said come over in the morning, that there was nothing to be done tonight.”

“Okay,” he said.  “If you’re waiting up until morning, I’ll wait up with you.”

She looked at him then as if seeing him standing there for the first time.

“Oh, God,” she said.  “It’s three in the morning.  You were – oh my God, Marcus, I’m so sorry.  I didn’t even think – you have work in the morning.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, you have to be up in like four hours for work.”

“This is more important,” he said firmly.  “You called me.  I’m here.  I’m here for whatever you need.”

“Thank you,” she said softly.  “I just – I didn’t know who else to call.”

“Abby,” he said, and he knew it was a bad idea but he couldn’t keep silent about it anymore.  “Abby.  Where the hell is Jake?”

She didn’t look at him.  She didn’t move.  For a moment, he wasn’t even certain she’d heard him, until he saw the tears begin to flow down her cheeks again.

“Gone,” was all she said.  

“What do you mean, gone?”

“We had a fight,” she said, busying herself with coffee mugs and spoons and sugar.  Marcus reached onto a high shelf and pulled down a bottle of Jack Daniels and handed it to her.  She poured a generous splash into the bottom of each coffee cup.  “Good idea,” she said dryly.

“You had a fight,” he prompted again gently as she filled the mugs, and tried not to think about the fact that she still knew exactly how he liked his coffee, mechanically adding the perfect amount of sugar without even thinking about it.

“We had a fight, and he left, and that was it,” she said.  “I haven’t heard from him since.”

“You should call him,” he said.  “He should know about this.”

“I called him three times while you were driving over,” she said.  “I left messages.  He knows.  He still hasn’t called back.”

_She called you first,_ said a treacherous voice in his head, but he shook it away.  This wasn’t the time.  He took the mugs over to the couch and sat down.  Abby sank down wearily beside him.

“I didn’t know who else to call,” she said again, helplessly.  Marcus set the mugs down on the coffee table and took her in his arms.  She relaxed against him, drawing her feet up onto the couch, and it was like no time had passed, the way she fit so comfortably in the crook of his arms, curled up against his chest.  

“He was a really good man,” he murmured into the top of her head.  “He loved you so much.  He loved Clarke so much.”  He stroked her hair gently, tenderly, and she buried her face in his chest, shoulders shaking with sobs.  “He was kind, and he was generous, and he raised an amazing daughter.  And I’m so, so sorry, love,” he said softly, the endearment slipping out without his even being aware of it.  Abby’s arms tightened around his waist.  “I’m so, so sorry.”  

And he held her like that, forgotten coffee cooling on the table in front of him, as the black sky lightened into indigo, then gray, then rose-violet, and the first rays of sun dawned around them.  


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: "scratchy beard snuggles"

##  ** **

##  **A LOVE LETTER TO MARCUS KANE’S BEARD, BY ABBY GRIFFIN**

She doesn’t want to like the beard.

Jake didn’t have a beard.  Neither did Jaha or Kane or Jackson most of the men she knew on the Ark.  It wasn’t a rule, exactly - there were men with beards on the ship, of course - but there was some unspoken feeling among the men in command, in authority, that keeping themselves sleek and clean-shaven mattered somehow.  On the Ark, Kane’s hair was slicked back and his pale skin was shaved smooth and it matched the person he was - crisp and militaristic and cold, all sharp hard edges.

But then they crash to earth, and shaving is the least of Marcus Kane’s worries, so at a certain point he just stops thinking about it, the way Abby stops thinking about how much effort she used to spend neatly braiding her hair.

And then that day, when he returns from captivity and she sees him striding towards her through the woods, there’s the beginnings of a few days’ beard on his face and suddenly he’s a different person.  Not because of the beard, but because of what it means.  Because of the way you can see on his face that he’s already begun to throw out the rules that don’t matter, the pointless customs that no longer serve them.  He was clean-shaven when he tried to float her, when he shock-lashed her.  But she knows somehow, without knowing how she knows it, that the bruised and battered Kane with sun-browned skin and four days’ dark stubble won’t ever do anything like that again.

She doesn’t want to like the beard - she isn’t sure she’s comfortable with how abruptly it’s flipped around her feelings about the man wearing it - but she does.  

And he knows it.

So the beard stays.

The first time he kisses her, weeks later, is the first time she’s ever been kissed by a man with a beard.  It’s fuller by then, and he keeps it neat but he seems to have committed to the look. It’s become part of him.  His hair’s longer too, long enough for her to wrap her hands in when he interrupts her mid-sentence (she was yelling about something, she forgets what exactly, something to do with the upcoming Council meeting and Bellamy’s field report) and leans down and kisses her so abruptly that she can’t stop herself from making a startled little exclamation of astonishment - both at the way it feels, the sensation of soft lips surrounded by pleasantly scratchy beard, and the fact that it happened at all.  She’s genuinely startled at the realization that all these months when she’s been idly wondering about kissing Marcus, that Marcus has also clearly been (more than idly) thinking about kissing her.

And once they’ve done it, of course, they can’t possibly not do it again.

The first time they spend the night together, Abby learns all kinds of other things about what the beard can do, and how it feels when it touches other parts of her body.  Like when he kisses her breasts and gently takes her nipples in his mouth, and the salt-and-pepper hair of his beard, which is somehow both silky and rough at the same time, brushes against the delicate skin and sets every nerve ending on fire.  Or the first time he made her come with his mouth, something she always enjoyed when Jake did it; but sweet God in heaven, it’s night and day with Kane’s beard.  It doesn’t localize the sensation of pleasure, it filters it out everywhere.  Everywhere the beard touches, with its soft scratchy friction, comes alive.  

After that, Abby loves the beard.

But she likes it best in the morning, when she wakes up to the glow of sunlight through the high window of her quarters at Camp Jaha and feels his strong arms around her and the scratch of his beard against the back of her neck.  She likes it because it means everything’s different now.  They wake up with the sun, they drink fresh water and breathe clean air, and the cold-eyed, white-faced military man Marcus Kane used to be has become a diplomat with scars on his face, a surrogate father, a man who knows how to lead, and every morning when Abby wakes up and feels his beard against her skin it’s a tactile reminder that a new world she could never have imagined is stretched out before her and everything is different now.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: "snowed-in smut"

If Abby didn’t like Lincoln quite so much, it would be almost infuriating how many times he’s casually saved her life.  By the time winter comes, Lincoln’s the most important person in the whole camp.  He’s the only one with any concept of _weather_.  The Sky People grew up in an enclosed, climate-controlled world, where nobody needed four different seasons’ worth of clothing or faced threats like frostbite and hypothermia.  It’s Lincoln who tells the Council there isn’t time to fortify Camp Jaha against the elements by the time the snow comes, and recommends they move everyone temporarily inside Mount Weather.  (There’s some discomfort and anxiety around the idea of going back into the mountain, particularly among the people who were held captive there, but it fades by the time the first blizzard hits and they’re all forced to imagine what it would be like trying to ride out the winter in tents.)

And it was also Lincoln who told Kane and Abby, before they left for their rendezvous at Tondc, that another storm was due and they should carry a supply pack for snow camping.

“We won’t even be gone one night,” she tells him.  “We’re meeting at the halfway point to Tondc.  We can make it back before nightfall.”

“Not if another blizzard hits you won’t,” cautions Lincoln.  Abby hates hauling the snow gear, especially on a trip with only two pairs of hands to carry everything, and she has enough faith in her hiking ability to make it back to the mountain before nightfall, so why haul a tent all day long that they won’t even need?  So Lincoln goes to Kane, who agrees immediately because “we can’t be too careful, Abby,” so she grudgingly straps on the massive pack, grumbling as they set off.

Eight hours later, on the return trip, when they’re hit by a blinding snowstorm, Abby sends up fervent prayers of gratitude that Lincoln is more stubborn than she is.  They set up the tent with numb, shivering fingers under the first rock outcropping they find.  It’s a good tent, swiped from the Mount Weather storage facility, and it’s entirely weatherproof and remarkably sturdy (although heavy, which is part of why Abby hates carrying it), and tall enough for Abby to stand up in, though not quite tall enough for Kane.  There’s a small compartment with a zippered door between the central chamber and the outer entrance where they pile their wet boots and coats.  Kane lugs in the huge pack he was carrying with the rest of the equipment.

“If you say I told you so,” warns Abby, stomping her feet to keep warm as Kane switches on the small battery-powered heater and lights from the camping kit, “I will throw you back out into the snow.”

Kane laughs.  “I didn’t say anything,” he protests.

“I could see it on your face.”

He unhooks the two bedrolls from the side of his pack and lays them out, one on each side of the tiny heater.

“It’s Lincoln you’re going to have to apologize to when we get back,” he reminds her.

“I know, I know,” she says through chattering teeth.  “I hate it when he’s right.”

She wraps her arms around her chest, hugging in what little body heat she has, and Kane immediately jumps up to wrap a blanket around her shoulders.  “Better?” he asks.  But it isn’t, not really.  There’s snow in her hair and her clothes are damp and it can take up to forty-five minutes for the heater to bring the temperature back up inside a tent this size.  She’s freezing.  She’s never been this cold.

“Are you okay?” asks Kane, and she shakes her head.  The thin, light blankets are specially-coated to retain body heat and work like magic, but even they can’t do anything through three layers of snow-dampened clothing.  The chill is seeping into her skin now and making her feel dizzy.

“Take off your sweater,” he says, rubbing her arms briskly through the blanket.  “Your clothes need to dry.”

She stares at him.

“Did you just tell your Chancellor to take her clothes off?”

He raises an eyebrow.  “I’m being practical,” he says.  “If you want to read something else into it, that’s on you.”

She doesn’t quite know if she believes him, and she’s suddenly acutely self-conscious of how close he’s standing to her.  But dammit, her sweater is like an icicle and she feels like she might pass out, so she decides to grit her teeth and be embarrassed later.  She pulls off her wet sweater and socks, laying them out to dry by the tent entrance, far away from the bedrolls.  Kane wraps the blanket back around her now-bared shoulders, draping it over her thin white camisole, which is mercifully still very nearly dry.  It works almost immediately; she can feel her upper body temperature begin to normalize.

She’s not quite sure what to do about the fact that her jeans are wet up to the knee from the snowdrifts outside.

“You’re still shivering,” says Kane, who isn’t stupid, and moves away from her a discreet distance to let her do the thing that she knows she has to do.  So while he pulls off his own wet sweater and socks - and, after an uncertain pause, his jeans - she strips down too. 

They face each other a little stiffly, wrapped in emergency blankets.

“Well,” says Kane.  “This is … I’m not quite sure what this is.”

“Awkward, I think is the word you’re looking for,” says Abby.  “Though I have to admit, I’m finally actually starting to thaw.”

“Me too,” says Kane.  “We should try to sleep, while we can.  Lincoln said he thought the storm would pass by morning, so we should be able to make it back by midday.”

She nods.  Kane switches off the little light, leaving the heater humming away between them, and they both curl up on their bedrolls and shiver themselves to sleep.

* * *

Abby wakes at dawn suffused with a glorious sensation of heat.  She stretches and yawns and sits up.  Kane’s still asleep on the other side of the heater, snoring gently.  She stands up from her bedroll to go hunt for her clothes, so she can be dressed again before he woke up.

But no such luck.

“Goddammit, Kane,” she snaps, waking him up with a jolt.

“What?” he says blearily, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.  “Where - what - huh?”

“Did you, by any chance, move our clothes to the outer compartment with the boots and travel packs last night?”

He nods.  “They were dripping wet,” he explains.  “I wanted to put them in the outer compartment so they wouldn’t get the floor damp and make us cold.”

She unzips the flap to the outer compartment wordlessly, and he stood up to stumble over towards her to look.  She tries not to stare at the sight of his bared chest, covered with a soft pelt of dark hair that her eyes want to follow down to the place where it disappears inside his black shorts.

“Look,” she says snappishly, hiding her confused sensations under a mask of irritability, and points at the wide gash in the outer flap of the tent that allowed a snowdrift to pile up overnight in the watertight compartment between the tent’s inner and outer walls.  “Our clothes are soaked.”

“Damn,” he mutters.  “We’ll have to bring them in next to the heater before we head back to the mountain, or we’ll freeze to death.”

“Back to the mountain?” Abby asks incredulously. “Kane,” she said.  “Listen to the wind.  We’re still in the middle of the storm.”

He falls silent for a long moment to listen.  Sure enough, the wind howls and whistles around their tent, rustling the outer flaps with sharp snapping sounds.  Inside, everything’s warm and lit by an orange-gold glow where the winter sun filters through the canvas, but outside it’s still a blizzard.  

No one’s going anywhere.

“How many days’ rations do we have?” she asks.

“Three more,” he says.  “We’ll be fine.”

Abby sighs.  “You’re in charge of fixing our clothes so we’re not trapped in this tent for three days in our underwear,” she says.  “I’m going back to sleep.”

* * *

The day passes interminably slowly.  Abby brought nothing to read or to do, so she mostly sleeps on and off while Kane bustles around.  He empties the snow out of the outer tent compartment, patches the hole, and crams his own bedroll next to hers to allow maximum room on the tent floor to lay out their wet clothes and supplies to absorb the heat directly.  He manages to get both pairs of socks and boots dry, along with their packs and coats, before the tiny little heater begins to lose power.  

“Don’t worry,” Kane assures her with a certainty she does not quite share, “the tent will keep all the existing heat in.  So our clothes will be dry by morning.”

“Fine,” says Abby tightly.  “Are you going to bed?”  Kane doesn’t answer.  “Kane?” she says, puzzled.  _“Kane?”_   She says his name three more times before he finally snaps back out of his distraction.

“Sorry, what?”

“I asked if you were going to bed,” she says irritably.  “What’s gotten into you?”

And then she realizes.

The blanket slipped from her shoulders while they were talking and she didn’t notice it.  His eyes are roaming all over her body, devouring her bared legs and arms and the swell of her breasts inside her bra.  He can’t stop staring.  She feels her body begin to grow warm all over beneath the heat of his gaze.

“Kane,” she murmurs, not sure how to go on.

“You said something about going to bed?” he whispers hoarsely as he rises and comes towards her.

“That’s not - I didn’t -”

“I’ve been snowed in with you for twenty-four hours inside this tent trying not to stare at your breasts,” he says, startling the breath out of her with his sudden frankness. “I held out as long as I could, but dammit, Abby, I’m about to lose it.”

“Marcus,” she whispers, feeling a shiver that isn’t from the cold echo up and down her spine, and then suddenly she’s in his arms.

His skin is blissfully warm and he holds her close and tight, just holds her for a long moment before he leans in and kisses her, and Abby’s head began to spin.

“Marcus, what are you doing?” she whispers.

“You know exactly what I’m doing.”

“What - how - “  She can hardly form words as he presses hot little kisses into the side of her throat, his big warm hands sliding across the flat of her stomach.  “How long -”

“How long have I wanted to do this?”  

She nods.

“Years,” he says, with something almost helpless in his voice, and it snaps something inside her, and she kisses him back, wild and frantic and hungry.

“We can’t go anywhere until tomorrow anyway,” she murmurs as she guides him back down with her to where he had laid out his bedroll next to hers.  “And it’s been pretty boring in here.”

“I have some ideas about how we can fill the time,” he says, pulling the blanket over both their bodies and cocooning them in a rich, soothing warmth.

“Do you?”

“I do, yes.”  And he slips a hand down the soft flat planes of her stomach to ease its way inside her cotton shorts.  She gasps as his fingers make contact, begin to stroke her lightly and gently.  Her hips rise up towards him, aching for more.  He kisses her mouth as he caresses her; his lips are warm and soft and his beard leave a pleasant friction against her skin.  She makes a soft, contented sound, like a purr, as his fingers quicken inside her, and when he finally coaxes her to orgasm she’s startled at how swiftly it overtakes her.

“You were right,” she smiled as he kissed her bare shoulder, her chest rising and falling as she caught her breath.  “That was a good idea.”

“Oh, we haven’t even gotten started,” he says, a flicker of mischief in his voice, and before she can even protest her shorts and her bra have both come off.

“Marcus,” she whispers as he takes her breasts in his mouth, one after the other, and suckles them hungrily.  “Oh God.  Oh, Marcus.”  She buries her hands in his hair, holding him close to her and savoring the feel of his warm, rough, tongue running slow circles around her now desperately-hardened nipples.  She reaches down, feeling his warm skin beneath her fingers, and grazes her fingertips over his chest, caressing the V-shaped curve of his hipbones as they slope away beneath his dark shorts.  She slips a hand inside, and he gasps as the lightest flickering touch of her finger grazes the tip of his aching cock.

“Abby,” he whispers  “Oh my God, Abby.”  She guides his mouth back up to hers and he kisses her frantically, fingers tracing abstract shapes in and around her warm wet cunt, as she takes him in her small hand and begins to stroke.  He buries his face in her shoulder, his breath coming in harsh panting gasps, and she feels another climax begin to rise up within her as his thumb and forefinger rub at her clit.

“Marcus, I want you inside me,” she whispers into his thick dark hair.  “Please.  Baby, please.”  He nods, too overcome for words, but shed his cotton shorts in a heartbeat and lowers his body carefully on top of hers.

“I can’t believe I’m really here,” he murmurs, a dazzled expression inside his dark eyes as he kisses and kisses her.  “I’ve never wanted a woman the way I want you.”

“I want you too, Marcus,” she whispers.  “And it’s not just tonight.”  And then she reaches down and guides him into her.

She’s warm inside, almost hot, and so wet that she pulls him in deep.  He gasps as he slides into her, kissing the soft golden-tan skin of her neck and shoulders.  “Abby,” he says over and over, thrusting in and out of her, feeling her delicate-yet-tough little body tremble beneath him.  Abby’s never felt a warmth that soaks inside her skin like this, the way his flushed, heated skin feels pressed up against hers.  The wind howls outside, whirling snow flurries around the tent, but inside they’re on fire.  He moves inside her, wild and gentle at the same time, one hand in her hair and one hand stroking her clit, and he savors the way the whistling, rushing wind carries away every trace of sound.  They’re alone in a winter world, with no one to eavesdrop or judge, and all he wants to do is keep making her moan and gasp and cry out in soft little sobs of pleasure.

They come almost at the same time - her first, and then him a hairsbreadth later.  They feel the rising of pressure inside them, like a bubble about to burst, and they clutch each other desperately, their breath coming in rough moans and their hearts pounding.  He gives a loud, heavy groan as he bursts inside her and then collapses weakly against her breast.  She strokes his hair tenderly.

“From the moment you first took off your sweater, all I could think about was this,” he confesses.  She laughed.

“Did you get our clothes covered in snow on purpose?”

“I didn’t, I swear. Though that did end up working out pretty well for me,” he admits.  “As did snowstorm, the tent, the wet clothes, the heater -”

“And the travel roster,” she says with a sly grin.  “I was supposed to take _Lincoln_.”

He laughs, and kisses his way down her belly.  “Are you glad you brought me instead?”

“Mmmm,” she sighs in contentment, as his tongue makes its way inside her soft folds and finds her clit..  “Very.  I don’t think I’d have had _nearly_ this much fun with him.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: "ngl I'm waiting with bated breath for the day when you write us a magnificently smutty season 3 ficlet inspired by The Kiss *bats eyelashes* *places chocolate, baked goods, wine, Kabby action figures at your altar* "

_SETUP: Pike was invited to join the Council, has rallied a bunch of people against the Grounders as revenge for what happened at Mount Weather, and when Abby protested he voted to have her stripped of her Chancellor title and removed from the Council.  Kane is the public face of opposition to Pike’s plan, advocating for peace with the Grounders, and he’s got Bellamy as his secret inside man in Pike’s camp.  Pike needs Bellamy to give a respectable face to his campaign, because the camp trusts Bellamy’s experience with the Grounders, so he becomes Pike’s right-hand man and feeds secret intel back to Kane (unbeknownst to both Clarke and Octavia, who are horrified that it looks like Bellamy is actually on Pike’s side and pro-war).  Pike converts enough people to his point of view that they basically take over the camp and the people who speak out against him are getting arrested and locked up to silence them.  Kane and Abby are alone in THAT ROOM WITH THE SEX COUCH arguing about what to do when Bellamy comes in and warns Kane that his name came up in today’s meeting and Pike is sending his guys after Kane next.  He wants Kane to apologize to Pike and keep his head down low so he doesn’t get arrested or shot, but Kane won’t do it.  Bellamy’s like “I can’t protect you, he’s decided you’re his enemy” and Kane’s like “I’m not going to lie just to save myself.”  Then Bellamy leaves, and Kane and Abby are alone again._

_Aaaaaaaand, CUE SMUT_

* * *

“He’s right,” said Abby sharply as soon as the door closed behind Bellamy.  “You’re at the top of Pike’s hit list.  He’s coming for you next.”

“I know.”

“So we need to run,” she said.  “Tonight.”

“Run?”

“We can make it to Tondc before they notice we’re gone,” she said, pulling her travel pack out of the closet.  “Indra doesn’t like us, but she trusts us.  She’ll hide us for at least a few days while we make a plan.”

“Abby, I’m not running away,” he said.  “And neither are you.”

“Don’t be stupid,” she snapped, hiding the waves of emotions roiling through her under a mask of irritation.  “This is no time to be a hero.”

“Actually,” he said, “I think it’s _exactly_ the time to be a hero.”

“You think this is funny?”

“Of course I don’t.”

“Marcus -”

“Abby, this camp needs you,” he said gently.  “You’re the only doctor we have.  You can’t go on the run.  This is where you’re needed.  Our people need you here.  And I’m not going to run either.”

“Pike’s going to arrest you.”

“Then let him,” he said.  “I’ll be in good company.  He already got Miller, and Monroe and Sinclair.”

“Miller and Monroe and Sinclair aren’t Council members, Marcus,” she said sternly.  “Miller and Monroe and Sinclair aren’t the co-leaders of this camp, with hundreds of people ready to follow them if they declared war.  They’re an inconvenience.  You’re a threat.”

“Abby -”

“Goddammit, Marcus, you’re going to get yourself killed.”

“Things aren’t going to get that far.”

“I’m not willing to take that chance,” she fired back.  “I’m not ready to lose you.  I _can’t_ lose another man I - ”

She stopped short, as though the words had come out almost against her will.  They both froze.  He looked up at her, sharply, as if seeing her for the first time. 

“Finish that sentence,” he said. She looked down at the ground, stubborn and defiant.

“I just don’t want to watch you get yourself killed,” she muttered, unable to look at him.  “I want you to get yourself as far away from this place as you can before Pike comes for you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re being an idiot.”

“Abby -”

“Because I can’t watch you die, Marcus,” she said, looking up at him, some dark emotion blazing in her eyes.  “I did that once.  I wouldn’t survive it again.”

He moved a little closer to her.  She backed away.

“Say it, Abby,” he said again, more urgent, more insistent.  His heart pounded in his chest like a drum.  He watched Abby’s chest rise and fall, her breath coming rapid and shallow.  “Abby,” he said again.

“You don’t need me to say it,” she said softly.  “You already know.”

In one long stride he was there and she was in his arms and he was kissing her.

She closed her eyes as soon as she felt him moving towards her, opening herself up to him completely.  He was hungry, urgent, taking her face in his hands - both rough and tender at the same time - as her hands slipped around his shoulders to tangle in his hair.  His mouth crashed into hers with wild, desperate longing and she gripped him tightly, dissolving into his body, unwilling to let him go.

“Abby,” he murmured as he buried his mouth in her neck, his beard caressing her soft skin with its rough friction and sending shivers down her back.  “Abby.”

“Goddamn you, Marcus Kane,” she whispered as he kissed his way down her collarbone.  “You are not getting yourself killed the moment I’ve decided I can’t live without you.”

“I don’t much relish living without you, either,” he pointed out, one hand sliding up her back to pull her closer.  “And I have no intention of getting myself killed.”

“You never _intend_ to,” she said dryly, exhaling deeply as his fingertips slid inside the soft cotton of her shirt to caress her lower back.  “But it keeps almost happening anyway.”

“‘Almost’ being the key word,” he said.

“Marcus -”

“I will always come back to you,” he murmured into the silken skin of her throat.   “I’m not going anywhere.”  He lifted his head to look at her then and saw that there were tears in her eyes.  “I belong to you,” he whispered, caressing her face with both hands and pressing a soft kiss against her forehead.  “I will always keep you safe.  And I will always come back to you.”

She shook her head.  “You can’t promise me that,” she murmured desperately.  “You don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow.   You don’t know what he’ll do.”

“No,” he admitted.  “I don’t.  But I know me.  And I know you.  And I know our people.  Bellamy.  Octavia.  Clarke.  We will find a way to stop this, Abby.  To stop the war.  We’ve done it before and we’ll do it again.”  He kissed her again, hungry and passionate.  “Have faith,” he whispered.  “Have faith in us.”

“I can’t lose you,” she said again, softer this time.  “I need you.”

“I need you too,” he murmured.  She shook her head.

“No,” she said, her eyes fiery with a desire so intense it took his breath away.  “I mean, I _need_ you.  Now.  Tonight.”

She kissed him again, and suddenly everything was different, the kiss swept them both up in its grasp and propelled them forward and their hands and mouth were moving of their own accord.  Kane couldn’t tear his own shirt off fast enough before pulling Abby’s off over his head, gliding his hand up the flat planes of her stomach to trace gentle fingertips along the soft swell of her breasts as he kissed her throat, reveling in her soft, startled murmur of pleasure.  She kicked off her boots, bracing herself for balance with her hands against his chest, and he kicked his own off too, pulling her backwards with him towards the couch against the wall of the council chambers.  

There was just the faintest moment of hesitation as his hands moved to the waistband of her jeans, resting for a moment on the buttons.  He looked at her.  He wanted to be sure she was sure.  She didn’t answer, but reached her hands up to tangle in his hair and pull his mouth down to hers, wild and hungry and frantic, which was all the answer he needed.  

“I can’t lose you,” she said again, softer this time, as he unfastened the buttons of her jeans and slowly slid the heavy fabric down over her hips, followed by her soft cotton shorts, then stepped out of his own until he was naked as well.

“You won’t.”

“Not after - because if we - and then tomorrow, you -”

He buried his face between her soft breasts, running his tongue up and down the hollow between them as his hands caressed her nipples through the cotton of her bra.  She gasped at his touch, at the way it felt to lie back against the cushions while his warm, heavy body pressed down into hers, skin to skin.

“I have no intention,” he said, sliding a hand down between her thighs and making her gasp, “of only ever doing this once.”  And the way her face lit up at that, with a poignant blend of desire and hope, made his heart turn over inside his chest.  He would never have believed she could want him the way he wanted her, and yet here she was, warm and soft and open, drawing him in, and he suddenly knew there was no pain or horror that the morning might bring that he couldn’t face after having Abby in his arms tonight.  

He stroked her between the thighs, savoring the low purring sighs of pleasure she made at his every touch.  She was already warm and wet - her body had known she wanted this before her words had admitted it, perhaps even before her conscious mind had.  But her body knew that it wanted him.  And so did his, he thought as he felt heat and hardness swelling deep inside him as his body warmed to hers.  

He kissed her over and over as his fingers flickered inside her, dancing lightly over the desperately sensitive bud at her center and making her flinch.  Then he felt her hand slide down and reach for him, her touch sending fire through his belly, and she pulled back far enough to look into his eyes.  “Please,” she said softly, and guided him into her.

The first rush of contact left them both nearly dizzy.  He was as hard as iron inside her, filling her, swelling inside her, and she felt herself expand to take him in.  He felt nothing but wetness and warmth, drawing him deeper and deeper as she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close.  

_How did I not know?_ he wondered to himself as he thrust into her again and again, stifling her wild cries with hungry kisses.  _How could I have had her in my life all this time and not known this was what I wanted?_

She moaned his name, just then, and he hadn’t thought anything could possibly have made him desire her more than he already did.  But that soft, breathy “Marcus,” as her hips rose up off the couch to meet him and her hands clutched his hair, unstitched him completely.

“Abby,” he whispered back, and he felt the rising pressure begin to mount inside of him, it was so close now, he was so near the brink, and he could tell from the way her back arched up off the cushions and her breath came in broken, panting gasps that she was close too.  He slipped his hand back down between their undulating bodies to stroke her again, and the double sensation of pleasure was too much.  She came hard, burying her face in the hollow of his shoulder to muffle her desperate cries, trembling and shuddering as the waves overtook her.  He followed her a heartbeat later, bursting deep inside her as her arms wrapped around him and tangled in his hair.

Tomorrow would bring whatever it would bring.  If he ended up thrown in a prison cell, so be it.  But Abby had gotten it wrong - Marcus Kane was no hero.  Or at least, not in the way she had meant.  He had no intention of dying nobly in a gesture of sacrifice.  He intended to live.  He wanted a home and a life and the woman he loved at his side every night when he fell asleep and every morning when he woke up.  He wanted Clarke home and happy, he wanted to be the father Bellamy Blake had never had, he wanted peace for his people.  

And what’s more, he believed it was possible. 

He had been listening, all this time, even when she thought he wasn’t.  He had learned the most important lesson Abby Griffin could ever teach.

_There has to be another way._

And Marcus Kane was going to find it.

 _Come hell or high water, Grounders or nuclear bombs,_ he told her silently, wrapping his arms around her and pressing kisses against her sweaty, tangled hair as her breathing slowed and stilled and she went soft and pliant inside his arms, _I will always come back to you._

_Always._


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: "it's winter in camp jaha and abby uses that excuse to snuggle with kane at night and ~things happen"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to both Anonymous and Devon Bostick’s Instagram (https://www.instagram.com/p/BAnTcIRCbVh/) for this prompt!

 

Technically it was all Lincoln’s fault, since the fire pit had been his idea.

The central bonfire was the heart of communal life in Grounder villages.  Since there were rarely buildings large enough to fit the whole village inside one single room, the fire pit was where decisions were made, victories were celebrated, losses were mourned, and gatherings were held that affected the entire community, and Lincoln thought that Arkadia needed one.  They’d dug a deep pit in the ground and built a ring of benches around the rim that could seat nearly a hundred people.  Fire was one of the small, simple Earth joys the Sky People weren’t nearly tired of yet; they’d all learned the basic mechanics in Earth Skills, of course, how to build a fire and put one out, but nobody had ever taught them how extraordinary it was to sit in front of a bonfire and smell the rich smoke and listen to the sizzling crack of burning wood and feel yourself slowly hypnotized by the dancing flames.  The fire pit quickly became one of the most popular places in the entire camp; even after winter hit and it was too cold for anyone to want to remain outside longer than they had to, there were always people at the fire pit, and from dusk until dawn there was always a fire burning.

It was on one such chilly night, when Abby was curled up on the bench and watching the fire crackle merrily, that Kane came looking for her with a question about the supply convoy.  

It took her a second to realize what he was actually talking about, since “a question about the supply convoy” had gradually become their discreet code for trying to find a private place to tear each other’s clothes off.  (It was clear to everyone that there was some kind of something brewing between the two of them, but they weren’t quite ready to go public yet; for one, Abby wasn’t entirely sure it was legal for the Chancellor to have a personal relationship with a Council member, and for another – well, the sneaking around was kind of hot.)  But it turned out this time Kane actually _did_ have a question about the supply convoy, which was departing in the morning with a team from Engineering to determine what of the medical equipment was salvageable, and how much electricity they’d need down here to actually run it.  He’d seen her shivering a little and had brought a huge, thick fur blanket over with him, which he courteously tucked around her.  She thanked him politely as he sat down beside her, a friendly but chaste distance away.  

On the other side of the fire pit, Nathan and David Miller sat with Sinclair and Lincoln, passing a flask of moonshine back and forth, in idle conversation.  Abby couldn’t hear them, but their low voices wafted pleasantly over the fire pit towards her.  The stars were out, the fire was crackling merrily, she was completely swallowed up from her shoulders to her toes by thick soft fur, and she could smell the delicious pine-and-woodsmoke scent that seemed to cling to Kane no matter how often he bathed.

“It’s a perfect night,” she said in a voice too low for anyone else to hear her, interrupting him in the middle of a question about whether Medical could accommodate the voltage required to transport down the x-ray machine, “and you’re ruining it with work.”

“Abby – “

“No to the CAT scan, yes to the x-ray, yes to the diagnostic imaging screens, the rest we’ll deal with in the morning, just stop talking,” she said, and he grinned.

“You know,” he said, leaning idly over her as though to re-tuck the blanket in around her, “I don’t quite feel like I have your full attention.”  As he pulled his hand back, underneath the blanket, he slid it across her thigh and brought it lazily to rest over the crotch of her jeans. He palmed her there comfortably, his hand hot through the thick canvas of her jeans, and she had to forcibly repress a desire to thrust her hips against him for more.

“What the hell are you doing?” she hissed.

“Scratching an itch,” he said idly, and began to do just that.  He scratched lightly with his fingertips against the thick fabric, achingly close to her center, separated only by a few layers of fabric.  The soft little flickers of sensation were so torturous that she had to bite back a moan.

“Anyway,” he said, in a completely ordinary tone of voice, pitched just loud enough for the others in the fire pit to hear, “we should bring this up with Engineering before we try to dismantle anything and haul it back down here in case the solar power relay doesn’t have enough voltage to run it.”

“You guys talking about the supply convoy tomorrow?” called David Miller from across the fire pit.  

“Why are you drawing attention?” muttered Abby through gritted teeth, then choked back an ecstatic gasp – unconvincingly disguised as a coughing fit – as Kane, ignoring her question, unzipped her, bypassed her cotton shorts altogether, and began idly running his fingers through the silky dark hair between her thighs.  

“You’re on the convoy, right?” Kane called back to him, and Miller nodded.  “Have you seen the equipment list from Engineering?”

“Hang on, the fire’s too loud,” said Miller, rising from his seat.  “I’m coming over there.”

“I’m going to bed, Dad,” said Nathan, and his father ruffled his close-cropped hair affectionately as he shooed him away.  Kane’s fingers paused briefly in their ministrations at this; there was something in the relationship between the Millers that brought out something in him that wasn’t quite envy – it was a little more wistful than that – and a look that came into his eyes when he watched the father and son together that did something to her heart, a little.  It was the same look she sometimes saw when he clapped an approving hand onto the shoulder of Bellamy Blake.  Kane was an easy person to hate – or at any rate, he _had_ been – but Abby’s fierce resistance to admitting she might be falling in love with him had begun to dissolve entirely the first time she’d seen him look at Clarke that way.

As if somehow sensing that she’d softened, let down her guard, become distracted, Kane seized the moment, and Abby wasn’t quick enough to stifle the gasp that flew out of her mouth as a finger entered her.  

“Chancellor?” asked Kane, turning to her with a perfectly-crafted expression of mild concern on his face as Miller walked over and sat down beside them.  “Are you all right?”

“Ember,” she said, her voice cracking the faintest bit as his finger began to move inside her.  “From the fire.”

“Do you want to trade seats?” asked Miller courteously.  “I’m a little farther away from the – “

“No, I’m fine,” she interrupted him, a little too rapidly, as a second finger entered her.  “Thank you, though.”  

“So the supply list,” Kane began, and launched into a lengthy and detailed conversation with Miller about the diagnostic imaging panels in Mount Weather.

On any other day, at any other time, there would be nothing Abby Griffin liked talking about more than plans to improve Arkadia’s medical facilities.  But there were two fingers inside her and a thumb stroking the hot, hard, wet little bud of her clit and it took all the strength she possessed to keep her face neutral, instead of throwing back her head and thrusting into Kane’s hand and letting out a very un-Chancellor-like moan, which was what she _wanted_ to do.

“That’s a good question,” she heard Kane say in his cheerful I’m-up-to-no-good voice.  “Let’s ask him.”

_Oh no._

“Sinclair!” Kane called across the fire pit.

“I will _murder_ you for this,” she hissed under her breath at Kane, who silenced her thoroughly with a third finger.  

_Goddammit._

She was going to come in front of Miller and Sinclair.  This was a nightmare.

 _Get it together, Abby, do_ not _let him win,_ she commanded herself firmly, and with a Herculean effort, she greeted Sinclair in a perfectly polite and collected tone as he walked over to sit down, bringing Lincoln with him.

“Where’d you find that blanket?” Sinclair asked curiously.

“Storage room,” said Kane.  “The Chancellor was cold.”

“You’re very thoughtful,” she said coolly, refusing to let her placid expression crack as he raised an eyebrow at her, sensing a challenge, and then began to thrust his fingers in and out of her as hard as he could without creating any movement in the surface of the thick fur blanket that shielded both their bodies from view.  She was soaking wet, warm all over, rising rapidly towards what she feared was about to be an explosive orgasm, and had somehow found herself in the middle of an impromptu Council meeting.

Kane was having way too much fun with this, timing the thrusts of his fingers to coincide perfectly with any moment where someone was asking her a question.  But she was Chancellor Abigail Griffin, goddammit, _she was not going to crack_.  So she let Sinclair pepper her with questions about the electrical equipment in Medical and what maximum voltage she was already using, and she answered in an entirely collected manner, with no indication save a slight flush to her cheeks about what was happening underneath the blanket.

All in all, she held it together remarkably well, and would have beaten Kane handily in this impromptu battle of wills – if it hadn’t been for Jackson.

In an accident of appallingly bad timing, Jackson passed by the fire pit just at that moment and Kane called out to him.

“Jackson!” he said.  “Do you have a minute?  We’re discussing the supply convoy.”

“I already turned in my list,” he said.

“Let’s talk through it again,” said Kane cheerfully, waving Jackson over. Puzzled, but agreeable, he stepped down into the fire pit and sat down next to Sinclair.

“What did we decide about the diagnostic imaging panels?” he asked.

“We’re still deciding,” said Sinclair.  “Chancellor, what do you think?”

“Yes,” said Kane, “what do you think?”  And he turned to her with a politely inquisitive look on his face, entirely innocent.

Then he made her come.

She held it together remarkably well, considering.  She let out one small gasp, which she mostly covered with a coughing fit; but that backfired when Jackson looked up at her sharply.

“Are you okay, Abby?” he asked in a gentle, worried voice.  “Are you getting sick?”

“I’m fine, Jackson,” she said, desperately trying to keep her voice steady.

“Are you sure?  You look flushed.  Do you have a fever?”

“I’m really fine,” she said, desperately waving him back into his seat as he began to move towards her.  The _last_ thing she needed right now was Jackson checking her for a fever.

Marcus discreetly wiped off his fingers inside her underwear and zipped her silently back up, retracting his hand and reclining innocently against the back of the bench.  Monty happened by just then, and noticed Kane and Abby under their shared blanket.

“All right, you two!  Hands where I can see ‘em!” he shouted, then breezed away cackling at his own joke.  Everyone in the fire pit laughed, but Kane laughed the loudest, which annoyed Abby – who hated everyone right now – enough to decide that turnabout was fair play.

“While I have you,” she said to Miller, Sinclair and Lincoln, “We should talk about the exterior wall fortifications.  We should settle that tonight in case we need to bring back construction tools on tomorrow’s supply run.  Marcus, I believe _you_ had some thoughts?”

“I did?” he said, staring at her in confusion, too distracted to realize what she was up to – 

… until her hand was on his cock.

Kane’s poker face wasn’t as good as Abby’s, and she was working with the benefit of the desire for revenge.  She wasn’t gentle with him, she was doing it exactly the way he liked it – fast strokes, hard squeezes, long slow scratches of her fingernails up and down the shaft.  She would stroke him until he felt like hot iron in her hand, and then pause just long enough to feel him begin to go crazy.  He could not thrust towards her, he could not beg, but he wanted to.

“ … enormous drain on the camp’s power reserves,” Sinclair was saying dubiously.  “If we’re looking into electrified fencing we’re going to need to find a way to tap into Mount Weather’s central power relay from the dam.”

“I agree,” said Abby, her thumb firmly circling the desperately sensitive tip of Marcus’ cock and watching in satisfaction as she saw him begin to sweat.  “But I’m not convinced it’s our most urgent need, security-wise.  Bellamy!” she called out, seeing him walk by.

“Don’t you dare,” Kane murmured, but she blithely ignored him.  He choked a little on his greeting as Bellamy sat down beside him (Abby had chosen that precise moment to squeeze particularly firmly).

“Are you coming down with something too?” Jackson asked worriedly.  “You look a little flushed too.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Kane practically snapped, “it’s the fire, the fire is hot, _I’m fine_.”

“Take off that giant-ass blanket, then,” Bellamy pointed out reasonably, to which Kane had no response prepared. 

“Abby, I’m going to go do one last inventory before bed,” said Jackson, “in case we need to add anything to the list for the convoy.”

Abby’s hand flew up and down on Kane’s cock, bringing him so near the brink of orgasm he could taste it, and then brightly said to Jackson, “Good idea.  I’ll come with you.”

 _“What?”_ said Kane, teeth gritted.

“Thank you for the blanket,” she said, carefully extricating herself from her side of the thick furs to tuck it around Marcus and conceal the still ragingly-erect cock that protruded out of his unzipped jeans.  “Very thoughtful of you.  Goodnight, everyone.”  

And with that, impervious to Kane’s baleful glare, she followed Jackson inside.

* * *

An hour later, when she finally returned to her quarters, she found him pacing back and forth with no clothes on, still hard, and seething with annoyance.

“You are an evil woman,” he began without even greeting her.

She laughed.  “Let this be a lesson,” she said, kicking off her boots and pulling her jeans and underwear off.  “Don’t start what you can’t finish.”

“I _wanted_ to finish,” he complained.  “ _Believe me_.”

Abby pulled her shirt and bra off over her head in one fluid movement, and looked over at him with a raised eyebrow.  “Why are you still talking, then?” she asked reasonably.

So he did the only sensible thing.  

He crossed the room in three long strides and shoved her up against the metal bulkhead, crashing his mouth against hers.  She wrapped her legs around his thighs as his hands grabbed her ass and he thrust into her still-wet cunt with a force so great it evoked a gasp of pleasure so deep it was nearly a sob.  

It only took him a few minutes to come inside her, forceful and heavy and urgent; he’d been so ready for such a long time that his body sagged against her with relief as he groaned and let go.

“Patience rewarded,” she teased him lightly.  “And now we’re even.”

“Hardly,” he growled, seizing her mouth again and carrying her over to throw her down on the bed.  He kissed his way down her chest until his mouth found the heat between her thighs and then – 

“ _Oh God_ , Marcus.  Oh my God.”

He was torturously slow, kissing and licking and stroking and devouring with an infuriatingly glacial pace, driving her into absolute agony, then pulling back to cool her down and keep her from coming.  She tried to reach her own hand down to give herself some relief, but he pinned her down and shook his head, then dived back in again.  It wasn’t until nearly forty minutes had gone by, when she was a liquid puddle – all gasping breath and sweat-burnished skin and hot wetness – and he was hard and ready once more, that he finally pulled back and said to her, “All right.   _Now_ we’re even.”

“Call it a tie?” she gasped.

“Tie.”

“No more games,” she insisted.

“I promise,” he said, sitting back up against the headboard and pulling her into his lap so he could take her breasts inside his mouth as she gently guided him into her.

They’d always liked it this way – the angle made all the difference, sent him deep inside her and made her tremble with pleasure.  It felt incredible for both of them.  But they’d both been lying, a little bit, about the competition being over; each one wanted to make the other come first.  Kane gripped Abby’s ass in one hand and her back in the other, holding her steady as she threw back her head, moaning, arching her back, and shaking while he suckled harder and harder at her nipples.  She rode him faster and faster.  He slid a hand down to stroke her clit.

They came at the same time, hard and frantic.  Kane had to seize Abby’s mouth in his to keep them both from crying out loudly enough to be heard.  He wrapped his arms around her back as their sweaty bodies quaked together, wild and quick and hard at first, then slower and more gently until they eased back down to earth.

They sat there for a long time in silence, just holding each other, breathing hard, before Kane finally spoke.

“Fine,” he said.  “Call it a draw.”

She burst out laughing, burying her face in his shoulder to muffle her uncontrollable giggles.

“Maybe I _should_ stop by Medical in the morning to see Jackson,” he mused. “I do feel feverish.”  
She rested her palm on his forehead.  “Hmm,” she said with a teasing smile.  “Yes, maybe you should.  You are kind of hot.”

“Only ‘kind of’?” he protested, with great indignation

She laughed.  “I take it back,” she said, pulling him down to curl up side by side on the mattress.  “I’m not sure Jackson can fix what’s wrong with you.”  


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: "Pilot Prompt! Marcus gave special orders to have Abby put in Clarkes old cell."

“Is it true?” Vera asked, arms folded across her chest, the soft lines of her face curved downwards with a particular hybrid of disappointment and sadness that he knew all too well.

“Mother, I don’t have time for this,” he said, a little more harshly than he intended, but she stood resolutely in his doorway, refusing to let him pass.

“Is it true that you’re arresting Councilor Griffin?”

“You know I can’t talk about that.”

“I don’t understand, Marcus,” she said plaintively as he pushed past her out into the corridor.  She followed him, a few steps behind, hurrying to keep up.  “All she was trying to do was keep the Chancellor alive.”

“She doesn’t get to make that decision.”

“She’s a good person, Marcus, you know that.”

He sped up down the hallway, half-afraid she’d follow him all the way to Earth Monitoring Station trying to talk him out of it if he didn’t shake her off.  “This is my job, Mother.  I don’t make these laws.  I’m carrying them out.  You don’t have to like it, but it’s what I do.”

And as he stormed down the corridor past her to the guard station where Shumway and the others were waiting, he heard her soft, unhappy voice behind him.

“I can’t understand it.  You used to be so fond of her.”

If you hadn’t been watching for it, you’d never even have noticed – the faintest hint of faltering in his brisk stride before he clenched his jaw, gritted his teeth and kept moving.

###

“Councilor Abigail Griffin,” barked Shumway as the doors slid open and a squadron of black-clad guards entered.  “You’re under arrest for exceeding the maximum medical supplies allowed per patient.”  Marcus, a few steps behind, entered to see Abby standing resolute and defiant in front of the wall of computer screens, her assistant Jackson at her side, and his entire body was suddenly overtaken with a cold wave of hatred.  Right there, in that moment, he hated Abby Griffin.

He hated her for putting him in the position of _arresting_ her for trying to save Jaha.  Once again, the Griffins were the Ark’s populist folk heroes, while Marcus had to be the villain just for doing his job.  She was just like Jake.  She used to be sensible, but Jake’s clueless optimism had gotten him killed and now Abby was on the same path.  Marcus Kane didn’t _want_ to be a monster.  He didn’t _want_ to be the kind of person who punished a well-intentioned doctor for trying to save the Chancellor’s life; God knows Kane didn’t want him to die either, no matter how much he wanted the job when Jaha stepped down one day.  But there was no good way out of this.  If she’d looked even a little apologetic, if she’d given him the tiniest opening to allow him to let her off the hook … but she held her ground, so he had to hold his.

“Sorry this has to be public,” he said stiffly as the guards bound her hands.  “But policy in these matters is very clear.  No special treatment.”

She didn’t even flinch.

“How much blood _did_ you use, Abby?”

“Don’t answer that,” Jackson started to say, but Abby shook them both off.

“I used whatever it took,” she said calmly, with the hint of a smile on her face.  It was the face she made when she was so serenely confident in her own rightness that nothing you did or said could shake her, and _this was not how this was supposed to go._

Then she looked him dead in the eye, and twisted the knife.

“Breaking the law to keep you from becoming Chancellor,” she said evenly, “was the best decision I ever made.”

The guards behind her tensed up.  Even Jackson swallowed hard, like he was afraid she’d gone too far. 

“In that case,” he said frostily, “given your confession, in my role as Chancellor _pro tempore,_ you leave me no choice but to find you guilty.”

This was wrong, _all of this was wrong_ , she was supposed to be _contrite,_ she was supposed to offer him an opening to compromise, he would have been perfectly happy with her resignation from the Council and stricter oversight of her medical supply rations, and now he was going to have to –

“We always have a _choice,_ Kane,” she fired back.  “You chose to press charges against my husband.  Your friend.  Even though you knew he would get floated for it.  You chose to include my daughter in those charges.  And now you’re choosing this.  Hiding behind the law absolves you of _nothing._ ”

He should have seen it coming. 

He should have been prepared.

But he wasn’t.  The mention of Jake hit him with the force of a fist in the gut, and it took all his self-control to keep his face expressionless.  His jaw twitched a little, that was all. 

He hated her for this too, for looking him in the eye and calling him by name.  For seeing straight down to the core of him, to the worst thing he’d ever done, and bringing it back up to the light. 

“Be that as it may,” he said tightly, “in accordance with Penal Code One – because all crimes committed by those above the age of majority are capital crimes – “ _I hate you, I hate you for making me do this, I hate you for making me say this, if you had apologized I could have saved you from this but you’re standing there staring at me like you’re proud of yourself and I can’t do anything about it, Abby, I can’t stop the train once it’s in motion_ – “you are hereby sentenced to death.  Execution is set for the morning.” 

Even that got no more than the faintest crack in her façade.  Still Abby, even in this moment.  Watching her last chance to plead for mercy sailing away from her, and not even blinking.  He’d never been this angry in all his life.

“And I choose,” he said, turning suddenly back to her, “at every turn, and at any cost, to make sure that the human race stays alive.” _Why can’t you see that I’m not a monster who wanted you to let the Chancellor die, but I’m the only one thinking ahead to what happens to the next person who needs a blood transfusion but all the supplies are gone because you used twenty people’s worth of rations on one person?_   _For once in your goddamned life, Abigail Griffin, can you just_ listen?

“That’s the difference between us, Kane,” she said evenly as he turned to go, and he knew it was a trap, he knew this was her way of getting the last word, he knew all her tricks, he knew she had nothing to say that he wanted to hear, but he turned back anyway, as she’d always known he would, because even after all these years the one thing he could never do to Abigail Griffin was walk away.  “I choose to make sure that we _deserve_ to stay alive.”

_I hate you._

_I hate you._

_I hate you._

###

“Have Dr. Griffin placed in her daughter’s cell,” he said to Shumway as the guards marched Abby down the corridor towards Prison Station, and he must have spoken more loudly than he’d meant to because he looked up just then, through the still-open doorway, and the dark glare on Jackson’s young face struck Kane so forcefully that he took a step backwards, almost reflexively.

“Arresting someone for breaking the law is one thing,” he could hear his mother saying, “but this is simply cruel.”

It was cruel.  He knew it was.  He _meant_ to be cruel.  He was too angry for impartial justice now.  _It wasn’t supposed to be like this._

But Jackson’s rage and his mother’s disappointment were nothing compared to what was coming, from the next person who was about to look at him that way.

###

“Are you out of your mind?” snapped Callie, storming into his room.  “You can’t just kill everyone who disagrees with you.”

Marcus had decided the only way to get through this alive was to be very, very drunk by the time Callie found out he’d arrested Dr. Griffin, so by the time she arrived he was in a moonshine-fueled haze of righteous indignation.  It didn’t stop him wanting to throw Callie up against the wall and take her right there, but he didn’t do it.  Not just because she was glaring at him with more tightly-wound fury than he’d ever seen in her eyes before, but because he couldn’t get the thought of Abby Griffin’s face out of his mind.

_“We always have a choice, Kane.”_

He took another long drink of moonshine to silence her calmly devastating voice in his head.  _Shut up, Abby.  Shut up.  Leave me alone._   Would the voice disappear, after she was dead?  Would there be nothing left but an Abby-shaped silence?  Or would she haunt him, day in and day out, the way Jake did?  There wasn’t enough moonshine on the whole Ark to silence the ghosts of _two_ Griffins, he thought.

“You all think I’m a bad guy,” he said, whirling on Callie with a sneer.  “But I’m the _only one_ who’s willing to do what it takes to save us.”

“She’s my best friend,” said Callie simply, her voice raw with emotion, and the only person he hated more than Abby Griffin in that moment was himself.

_You are exactly the monster that she thinks you are, Marcus, and you know it._

_Shut up, Abby._

“So what do you want me to say?” he retorted, knowing it was vicious, knowing it was cruel.  “That I’m sorry?  I’m not.  Friendship is a luxury we can’t afford.”  _Don’t think about Jake Griffin.  Don’t think about Jake Griffin._ “And if I have to take us down to a cosmic Adam and Eve, I will do it.”

“Please,” she said softly.  “Show mercy.  If not for Abby, then for me.”

“We can’t afford mercy,” he said, and the moment the words were out of his mouth he knew that it was the last time Callie Cartwig would ever look him in the eye again.

Jaha would understand.  Jaha would have done the same, if the positions were reversed.  Jaha would not have authorized wasted medical resources to save him, regardless of personal feeling.  Jaha would not have let Abby save his life.

And it stopped him in his tracks just then, the weight of the realization, the absolute certainty of it:

Abby Griffin would have broken the law to save Marcus Kane’s life too.

He thought about that, as Callie walked away from him and the door closed behind her and he took another heavy swig of moonshine, feeling its acrid burn down his throat and into his chest.  He thought about himself on Abby Griffin’s operating table, he thought about that determined set of her jaw, those deft hands and keen sharp eyes and that unshakeable determination, and he thought about her taking a dozen extra blood rations from Med storage against all regulations to keep Marcus Kane’s heart beating, even though he had killed her husband and arrested her daughter and they agreed on nothing.  They had been friends, once, but it was such a long time ago, they’d been so young, and everything was different now, because of Jake and a lot of other things too, but that wouldn’t matter to Abby Griffin if he was lying there on her operating table with a bullet in his chest.  And it constricted his heart painfully inside his ribcage, to think about that – to realize there was nothing he could do, absolutely nothing at all, that could make Abby Griffin hate him enough to let him die.

Jaha would do the same thing, in Kane’s position, but Abby Griffin never would.

 _It wasn’t supposed to be like this,_ he thought bitterly, feeling the raw sting of moonshine in his throat.   _You weren’t supposed to die.  I don’t want to watch you die._

_Please don’t make me watch you die._

Tomorrow morning Abigail Griffin was scheduled to be floated out the airlock to suffocate in the cold, empty grasp of space.

And he was pledged to stand there and watch.

 _I hate you,_ he thought desperately, pouring the rest of the moonshine down his throat in a wild, panicked attempt to shut the image out of his head.  Her warm brown eyes, her stubbornly raised chin, her small narrow shoulders and her head held high.  Her mouth –

_“We always have a choice, Kane.”_

And it split him in two, those devastatingly calm words, because she had looked right at him and seen the truth: that half of him desperately longed for a way to keep from having to execute a woman he had known for thirty-five years, and half of him couldn’t wait until her low, throaty voice was silenced forever by the airless black void of space, because maybe then finally the chaos inside his mind would be silenced too.

If the price of a clean conscience – of never again having to look at her and be reminded about what he’d done to Jake – was one more death, and never looking into those flashing dark eyes again, so be it.

He just wanted it to end.

_“We always have a choice, Kane.”_

_I hate you._

_I hate you._

_I hate you._


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: "can you write a one shot about abby getting comfort from marcus about clarke?? *_*"

**_“Look at where you are  
Look at where you started  
The fact that you’re alive is a miracle  
Just stay alive, that would be enough . ._** .”

For the first three weeks, Abby doesn’t sleep.

She doesn’t say anything to anybody, and nobody says anything about it to her.  No one is sure what to say, really.  It spread through the camp like wildfire – _Clarke Griffin is gone, Clarke Griffin didn’t come home_ – but in hindsight nobody can remember speaking the words out loud.  It was simply something that everyone knew without knowing how they knew it.

And nobody knows _why._

There are clues, if you can read them.  You can tell from the way a face might shift and change if someone carelessly mentions her name.  You might see a quiet, compassionate empathy flicker in Lincoln’s dark eyes – he understands what it’s like to feel the sense of home slip away from you – or you might see Jasper Jordan coil up tight as a spring, tense with a cold white anger he has no words for.

You might wonder if Bellamy Blake knows more than he’s saying.  

But you would know without a shadow of a doubt – you would know all the way down to your bones – that Abby Griffin does not understand.

It torments her.

She doesn’t sleep.

It’s easy to mask, in the first chaos of homecoming.  So many injuries to treat, so much damage to repair.  Nobody’s sleeping, then.  Everyone’s on edge.  But a week goes by, then two, and they begin to catch their breath a bit.  They begin to realize the danger’s really over.

Everyone – young and old – has been at war since the moment they landed, and now suddenly they’re not.  Now, suddenly, it’s peacetime, and they live here, and it’s time to look ahead.

But the Chancellor can’t sleep at night, and no one knows what to do.

It’s Jackson who finally comes to Kane about it.  Abby’s hands aren’t steady in the operating room, like they used to be, he says, almost apologetically.  Abby’s making mistakes.  He’s covered for her as well as he can, but he’s not a surgeon and he knows it.  She’s still Abby, he explains.  She’s still the woman she always was.  She hasn’t lost it.  It’s only that she hasn’t been sleeping.  He does what he can; sometimes he can get her to lie down in the afternoon to rest for a few hours when things are slow, but then she’s up all night anyway.  And it’s not just insomnia.

She’s watching.

Waiting.

There’s a spot near the central bonfire, says Jackson, where you can see straight through to the camp’s front gate, and this is where Abby has spent every night since the first one when Clarke didn’t come home.

“I don’t know what to do,” says Jackson, his voice cracking a little with helpless worry, and Kane doesn’t know what to do either but Jackson is looking at him like he ought to so he nods his head and puts a warm strong hand on the younger man’s shoulder and says, “She’s going to be all right, Jackson.  I promise.” 

It means nothing, those words, it’s not something Kane can promise, but it makes them both feel a little better anyway.  

Because she _has_ to be all right.  

She has to survive this.

She has to.

_She has to._

Neither of them know how to go on if she doesn’t. 

* * *

That first night, after Jackson comes to see him, he doesn’t speak a word to her.  He waits until the rest of the camp is in bed, waits until there’s nobody left awake except the night guards and the Chancellor sitting by the fire, and then he sits down on the ground beside her.  He doesn’t say anything, and neither does she.  They just sit there, side by side, until the dark night lightens into dawn, watching at the gate for a girl who isn’t coming.  As the sun rises over the far horizon, Abby stands, dusts herself off, and goes back inside, without even a backwards look at Kane, and that’s the end of it.

They don’t speak the next night, either, but this time he sits a little closer, and she doesn’t move away.  Other than that, it’s the same as before.  They watch at the gate all night long, in dark silence, saying nothing, until morning comes and Abby goes back to work.

On the third night he brings out a blanket.  She lets him tuck it around her, but still doesn’t speak.

On the fourth night he brings out the same blanket, sits down so close to her that their shoulders are very nearly touching, and spreads the blanket over them both.  At one point, he thinks she turns to look at him, but by the time he turns back, the moment is gone.

He takes her hand, on the fifth night.  It’s warm by the fire, but Abby is always cold, and her skin feels like ice against his.  He squeezes it tightly, willing the warmth of his own hand to flow into hers, wishing there was something more he could do, something more he could give her, but all he has is this.  

They sit like that for a long time before a flicker of pressure startles him and he realizes she has squeezed his hand back.

Then she pulls it away, back into her lap.  Still she says nothing.

On the sixth night she looks up as he approaches her to sit down, as though she were waiting, as though she were expecting him.  He doesn’t reach for her hand again, but he feels her shift in her seat just slightly, moving towards him.  They sit all that night with her shoulder resting lightly against his.  

Even her shoulder is cold.

Like a princess under a spell, or some mystical creature from an old fairy tale, she doesn’t speak until the seventh night.  He sits down beside her, just as before, draping the blanket over them both.  He sits a hairsbreadth away, letting her move close enough for their shoulders to brush together again, and for the first few hours it’s the same.  They sit in the darkness, they listen to the crackle of the fire, and they watch like sentinels at the gate.

“She’s not coming home, is she,” says Abby, and it isn’t really a question.  Her voice is low, almost a whisper, but so unexpected and startling that it shatters the silence anyway, like a rock through broken glass. 

“I don’t know,” he says honestly.  “I hope so.  But I don’t know.”

“Is it – “ she begins to say, then cuts herself off, her voice faltering a little, but his is swift and strong and sure.

 _“No,”_ he says immediately, his voice decisive and firm.  “No, Abby.  It’s not your fault.  It’s not anything that you did.”

She doesn’t say anything, but nods, and he feels her collapse a little, leaning her weight against his body.  Then, after a long moment, she rests her head on his shoulder.  His arm wraps around her, pulling her close, and they’ve never done this before but it feels right, it feels like the only thing.  He holds her close and murmurs into her hair, “It’s not your fault.”

“I miss her,” she says, in a hollow voice.

“I know.”

“And I’m afraid.”

“I know.”

“I can’t keep her safe when she’s out there and I’m here,” she says, and it breaks his heart a little.  Clarke will be forty years old with children of her own and Abby will still be mothering her, he thinks.  Clarke led an army to destroy Mount Weather and her mother still worries about what will happen to her out there in the world on her own.

For a moment he misses Vera Kane so much that his heart stops beating, he can feel the ache of sorrow inside his chest with a palpable weight.  The things we don’t say to our parents because we think there’s always more time.

 _Please come home, Clarke,_ he calls out to her silently, as Abby’s head rests on his shoulders.   _Or if you can’t – please, just stay safe.  
_

_Just stay alive._

Abby rests her head on his shoulder, and after a moment, he hears her breathing ease and slow and soften.

She’s asleep.

He pulls her close against his chest, wrapping his warm arms around her small cold body, and he sits in silence as the sun rises in the eastern sky, watching the gates alone.

 _Please,_ he prays in silence to God he’s not sure is there or not - praying, in some way, maybe, also to Vera - _please, bring her home._


End file.
